


Wounds and Worries

by SourWolf



Series: Lessons Learned [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourWolf/pseuds/SourWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek tries to make sure Scott has a better future than he does, and Stiles asks Derek to add a lesson onto his curriculum for Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds and Worries

My searching and Scott’s constant need to get in my with all of his teen angst played out like a game of cat and mouse. For once in my life, I somehow felt more like a mouse. A mouse being toyed with by a really, incredibly stupid cat. Every time I thought I was making some progress either with the question of my sister’s murder and the alpha, or with Scott getting some kind of a hold on the situation, he appeared and made me wonder how the kid had gotten this far without being diagnosed with a learning disability. Still, he was proving to be useful, even if his use was largely limited to the fact that alpha wanted to bring its beta into the fold.

Being unable to fight, he couldn’t be brought out to help my search unless I was certain that we wouldn’t get surprised by Hunters. Having him injured and in danger would be a way to lure the alpha out, but I would need Scott in the fight if I wanted to stand a chance against the alpha. I was strong and fast, but it would mean little against the sheer power of an alpha. I just hoped that my training and honed instincts combined with Scott’s unstable fury would be enough to overcome the alpha when we finally found him.

I had finally tracked down the alpha. I was so close to him that I could feel his breath, but I should have known that the trail of blood I was following meant that I should be more than cautious. The alpha, knowing I was on his tail, tricked me into following him right into the Hunters’ sights. This Hunter was more vicious than the others in town had proven to be so far. The leader, the Argent man whose daughter Scott was moronically doting over, had a predilection for crossbows. The others, while using guns, had never been out for blood. This Hunter, however, wanted us dead, and I was the one in the scope of her rifle.

I was too focused on chasing the alpha to notice the gun taking aim. I registered the sound of the gunshot too late. I was lucky that the bullet only struck me in the forearm. Immediately, I felt the bullet’s effect beginning to grip me. The bullet was numbing yet caustically painful at the same time. Before the Hunter could get to me, I stumbled away from the scene.

I stopped in my house long enough to try a few remedies, hoping that something might work. Nothing did. I realized after the last of a day’s worth of fruitless attempts, a poultice I once saw my mother use to draw wasp venom out of a cousin that got into a wasp nest in the woods, I was taking too much time. There was only one option. Scott and Stiles would have to help me. Getting to the school was no small feat. At first it wasn’t so bad since the pain was largely restricted to my arm. By the time I reached the school, I could barely feel the trickle of blood trailing towards my fingertips and my stomach was cramping so badly that I strained myself not to double over, fall to the ground, and let the poison take me before I finished giving Laura and the rest of the family the justice they deserved. But I couldn’t allow my body to give out before I had finished this; I couldn’t fail them again.

And it was a miracle that I didn’t die. Force of will alone gave my body the ability to resist the poison just a little longer than it really needed to do its work. By all rights, I should be dead, or laying on the floor of the empty vet’s office bloodied while my body worked to heal itself around the stub of an arm I would have been left with. I wondered briefly as I faded out of consciousness if my arm – or whatever piece of my soul it might take residence in it – would end up with my family, if it would show them that I was trying, that I loved them, and that I was sorry. Would it help to alleviate the shame of my failures or would it be another glaring example of how I kept letting them down? Would I be blamed for tainting two more people with my presence? Would Stiles really end up suffering for cutting off my arm if it meant that he saved a life or maybe even some small portion of a damned soul?

I was far enough gone that I didn’t even know what it was that woke me up, only that Stiles stood over me and Scott was at my side with the only chance I had at a cure. I couldn’t even be entirely sure that it would work. The poison had advanced farther than I’d ever heard of any werewolves surviving, but there was no choice but to try.

In the pain of the tide finally turning as my body gained the ground needed to finish the task of healing my body, I could feel the wolf again, raging with a renewed hatred of the Hunters, of the Argents, of the alpha. All other thoughts were thrust aside as my wounds closed and I found myself once again entirely focused on the twofold task of revenge, a task that required Scott to be on my side.

Stiles required little effort. First, he was human and his fear could be exploited. Second, he was unwaveringly loyal to Scott. If Scott sided with me, he would surely follow. Scott’s stubbornness, his inexperience as a werewolf, his ill-fated love for Allison Argent, future Huntress extraordinaire, would all work against him and likewise against me. If I convinced him to help me, not only would I have the help that I needed, but I could show him the mistakes that I made and let him learn from them rather than having to go through them himself. His mother didn’t have to end up like my family just because of his feelings for Allison.

So I took them to the Long Term Care Facility. I tried to take only Scott, but Stiles insisted that I still couldn’t be trusted. He asserted that they would be safer together and Scott slowly gave in and took Stiles’ side on the issue. I had to give in if I wanted Scott to understand. Stiles chattered on excitedly about how awesome it was that I had healed, that Scott managed to steal the bullet and get there just in time, that he punched me back to consciousness and I hadn’t killed him (he flinched at the one, his frightened eyes meeting my glare in the rearview mirror), and most importantly that he didn’t have to cut off my arm. Once parked in front of the hospital, I pushed Stiles back into the seat before he had the chance to finish flailing around and scrape the entirety of my car’s interior.

“Stay.” I ordered, giving my best ‘or else’ glare. He let out a whine and flopped back against the seat, giving the most exasperated sigh I had heard from a post-pubescent person in my life. His arms crossed over his chest, giving some story about me being Batman meant that he wasn’t even Robin anymore and how life was really starting to suck. I ignored him and slammed the door. Just because he won the argue to tag along didn’t mean that I had to let him out of my car. I was only interested in giving my story to the person that needed it most. It was already uncomfortable enough to even be telling Scott.

I couldn’t be sure that my story had any real effect on Scott. The only clue that he even listened was the fact that he looked like his head would explode as it was actually made to process information. Maybe it would do some good after all.

We were both quiet on the ride back towards the vet’s office, and the silence was taking its toll on Stiles. He managed for a little while, but he soon began fidgeting. He played with his phone, drummed a beat on his knees, and hummed briefly before he finally gave up, rapping his hand against Scott’s shoulder.

“Scott! Come on! You gotta tell me what happened. This whole werewolf secret thing is so uncool. I don’t want to be Alfred.” Stiles complained, shaking his head. “Even Alfred got to know all the cool secrets!” He corrected himself, trying to figure out a proper portrayal of his situation.

“Who’s Alfred?” Scott asked, looking at his friend like a puppy that knew it had been given a command but had no clue what it was supposed to do.

“Bruce Wayne’s freaking butler, dude! I swear, you’re so uneducated. And I try so hard. I really do.” Stiles answered with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Stiles. Shut up.” I growled.

He let out a groan of frustration, falling back against the seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m starting to regret not cutting your arm off when I had the chance.” He snapped, earning a glare that was accompanied by a flash of electric blue. That finally seemed to work and he stayed quiet for the remaining trip, if I didn’t count the constant squirming.

He practically leapt out of the car after Scott when we returned to the animal clinic. He landed wrong and stumbled a little, but did his best to play it off. It reminded me of the boy that had tried to climb the tree at his mother’s funeral a lifetime ago. A curious and very human thought crossed my mind in that moment before I had the chance to push it aside. Was there anything left of the boy that Genim met that day or had that Derek Hale been left behind in an unmarked grave long ago?

Stiles caught my stare, his eyes turning curious. I could tell that he saw something that caught his interest and instinctively I went on the defensive, hardening my gaze into a glare. Whatever spark flashed in his face struck the cold ground and fizzled out. He shut the door of my Camaro and moved to help Scott get his bike into the old jeep, pestering him the entire time about what I had shown him in the hospital that he was forced by the big bad Derek to sit around in the car and miss out on.

I pulled away from them, listening to Scott’s brief explanation of the events in the hospital. I could tell that he was still thinking things through. He wanted Stiles’ opinion. I could hear it in his voice. The doors of the jeep slammed shut, blocking out most of the sound. The old jeep’s engine rumbled to life and blocked out my chance to hear their verdict.

\-----------

They chose to trust me, I believe, driven by the fact that I was the answer to the questions they had about Scott’s transformation. The internet, books, and movies could only get you so far. There was an impossible amount of information about our kind out there and sifting truth from fantasy was made a lot easier when there was someone who had lived it.

Stiles didn’t come around much. I’m sure it was because he didn’t trust me, but it didn’t make a difference. Scott did come. That was the important part. He still didn’t listen. Everything that I said was taken back to Stiles and together they made a decision about how to continue. It annoyed me, but as long as it didn’t get in my way, I wouldn’t get in theirs. I wasn’t trying to make friends; I only needed an alliance with Scott so that we could get rid of the alpha.

“Derek!” Did every teenager think it was acceptable to suddenly burst into someone else’s home and start yelling? No wonder the sheriff always looked so tired if he had to deal with an angst-ridden Scott bursting into his home at all hours of the night yelling for Stiles.

Yet that wasn’t Scott. There was no wolf behind his voice. The very human heartbeat was touched with a fear that I didn’t instill in the beta. Scott knew that I needed him. Stiles, on the other hand, was all too aware of his humanity in the situation.

My growl echoed in the decrepit house, the only sign that he had my attention in the darkened building, the only light filtering in from the outside through the broken windows and ruined walls. Stiles cringed, his tongue sliding over his lips as he tried to fight the quickening of his heart and the scent of adrenaline that gave away his fear.

“You owe me for the whole oozing werewolf blood all over my jeep. And, you know, not cutting off your arm even though you threatened to kill me.” He said boldly, looking up the stairs.

“What do you want?” I was in the shadows at his left side when I spoke. If only he knew that I had been in the kitchen to get a bottle of water, maybe he wouldn’t have been so surprised.

Surprised might have been too light a word for what Stiles experienced. The blood drained from his face and he let out a cry as he jumped away from me, managing to land on the third step from the bottom. For a human, it was an impressive jump considering that he did it blind and his stance didn’t waver when he landed. He flailed around for a few seconds before pointing an accusing finger at me.

“Holy mother freaking piece of crap! Do you have to be such a freaking creeper, you Ted Bundy wannabe piece of dirt?” He yelled, his voice an octave or two higher than normal.

I gave Stiles a glare that warned him against talking to me like that again. He just rolled his eyes at me and made his way back down the stairs, glaring right back at me.

“No.” He said, bravely trying to stare me down. “Scott let my dad get hurt last night because he was too wrapped up in Allison to give a crap about anyone else. I didn’t come here so you could start threatening me again. Are you going to help me or should I just leave right now?”

“Its not really something I should get involved in.” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest. In truth, I would be happy to help. The sheriff had been good to us. It was safe to say that he was just as good, if not better, to Scott.

Stiles glared at me, his fear quickly mutating into anger at my apathy. There were so many thoughts and emotions coming off the teenager that the concoction of pheromones it produced was sickening. I was light-headed by the time Stiles turned around and started stomping towards the door.

“Just forget it. I was never here. I should’ve known you wouldn’t even remember. This was stupid. I’m stupid.” He griped mostly to himself.

“Stop.” I ordered with a growl, shaking away the effects of the pheromones that pulled my mind in every direction and made it almost impossible to think clearly. It was like nerve gas that I simply had to let run its course and hope that enough fresh air would rid me of it entirely. Stiles stopped as he reached for the doorknob, a new wave of fear, hope, anger, uncertainty, confusion, yet another burst of nerve gas. I wasn’t used to this kind of emotion. Since the fire, I had only really experienced my sister’s emotions. I dealt with the emotions of others in classrooms, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like the ball of emotions, feelings, hormones, and energy that was Stiles Stilinski. It was painful, just how much he felt. How could he bare it?

But then I realized that Stiles was trying to do the same thing for his father that I had failed to do for Laura. The sheriff was all that Stiles had left and he needed to keep him safe. He came to me to teach Scott a lesson that every werewolf learned early on: the people you love are your pack. The strong pack members protect the weak and the safe protect those in danger no matter what happens. After all, the weak are let into the pack for a reason. It was a lesson that Scott obviously needed. A Hunter’s daughter has her people to protect her when in danger. Who did the sheriff have while he worked to protect the panicking people? It should have been Scott.

“I’ll take care of it. It’s a good lesson.” I conceded at last. Stiles nodded, grinning to himself. I was hit with another wave, this one happiness and excitement as well as confusion and the last gasp of the boy’s anger as it fizzled out.

“Don’t kill him or anything.” Stiles said cautiously, not looking back at me anymore. “I just want you to scare the crap out of him. I want him to know how I felt when my dad got hit by that car. He’s so hard-headed he’ll only get it if he gets scared.”

A low rumble signaled my understanding and Stiles left after a hushed thank you. And I made sure that Scott was thoroughly afraid when I decided to surprise him in the parking garage.


End file.
